Dark eyes, long hair, proud of familia and roots.
Tattoos claim the city with the golden bridge.
Why you? So strange when these eyes only sought green or blue,
uninked, milky skin, and hair of gold.
Spanish guitar played, Latin blood ran deep.
When will I forget? I think never.
Your memory and voice imprinted deep within.
You said you loved me, as I walked out of your life.
So young, so different, so real, yet unreal.
I see you clearly in passing dreams.
I hear you say my name, hold my hand, and I sigh.
You always said I'd be there in the end.
Yes, look deeply into my dark eyes and hold me once more.
You know that I'll say yes to one last dance.
it sounds very much like a journal entry... real life written down in verse... very 'real'.. thx
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Jarea has got it right, I can see that you are educated by the grammar and punctuation; also you do know that each line of poetry begins with a capital unless using affectation. Very few know that on this site. A journal entry, yes, and yet the staccato lines open it to the reader. Read mine –I Cannot Return – Adeline